


When You're Asleep

by MarbleAide



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Frottage, M/M, Sleepy Sex, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 14:42:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4880731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarbleAide/pseuds/MarbleAide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim's showered, soft, asleep, and Clark really, really, can't help himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You're Asleep

**Author's Note:**

> Because this pairing needs more everything.

It always surprises him when not five minutes after they both come down from their post orgasm high, Tim is up from bed cleaning up. Clark is perfectly happy to lay back, snuggle as much as possible, then go to sleep. Tim, on the other hand, gets into some sort of fit and rises with a final kiss to Clark’s lips before starting to tidy. Clothes in the hamper, lube put away, everything a little more organized then before even if they didn’t actually use it. Tim doesn’t limp anymore after sex (not unless Clark’s off planet for a while at least) but he still sort of hobbles around while he cleans.

“Tim,” he calls from the bed just like he always does. “You don’t have to clean up. Come sleep.”

And then, as usual, Tim huffed softly and ‘tsk’s Clark like he’s a child instead of a near god. “I’d do it in the morning anyway.”

Clark would help, but Tim insists sometimes and even if it would only take him a few seconds Clark figures the little bits of house cleaning help clear Tim’s mind. He always says he thinks better when things are organized.

By the end of it there’s nothing left on the floor and Tim’s got a towel over his shoulder heading towards the bathroom. This, Clark doesn’t complain about. He did once, and Tim had waved a hand at him and replied ‘you’re not the one leaking’ with cheeks so red no one would have thought Clark had just fucked his brains out a moment before while Tim begged him for it.

But no, showering was nice. Sometimes Clark would join him, but right now he stays where he is, listening to the shower turn on and the soft sighs Tim makes when the warm water hits skin, relaxes muscles. Tim hums softly as he washes his hair, his body, the air starting to smell heavy of rosemary and mint as he continues. It gets even stronger when Tim finishes, opens the shower door to dry off. Clark can hear him brushing his hair, tying the longer strands up into a small pony tail before putting on clothes and heading out of the bathroom.

Sometimes, Clark uses his x-ray vision to peek inside, but tonight he was content to listen. If he did look, he would have noticed Tim picking up the closest clothing he could find to put on before heading back into the bedroom.  
It was adorable, honestly. Skin freshly washed, still damp and pink from heat, Tim’s hair pulled back, and wearing a pair of his own black boxer briefs with one of Clark’s own shirts falling off his shoulders. Literally falling. The size difference between the two of them did drag into the realm of comical at points, but looking at Tim try to keep the shirt on had Clark’s heart pounding and a smile ready to break out onto his face.

He doesn’t laugh, but he wants to. Seeing Tim like that, he wants to do a lot of things, but Tim’s already showered and normally that’s a sign the really fun parts of the night are over. Not that Clark minds terribly. He’s still got the sound of Tim moaning in his heads, begging that he go deeper; squeeze him a little tighter…

Tim crawls into bed and settles in his usual place beside Clark, head resting at the curve of his shoulder, nuzzling against him softly. Clark easily wraps his arms around Tim, practically scoops him up to get him closer. It’s amazing how light the teen is, how fragile and small. It’s also terrifying, but Clark tries his hardest to not let those thoughts drag him down.

Tim’s asleep before Clark even realizes it, the soft sounds of his even breath now filling the room. It’s a good thing. Tim always needs more sleep and after a round like that, Clark was surprised he didn’t fall asleep in the shower. All Clark does for a while is listen. He holds Tim close, breathes in the smell of shampoo, of Tim’s scent mingled with his own. It’s intoxicating.

At some point, he does try to fall asleep. He dozed in and out for an hour or two, but Tim’s just so…distracting, even in sleep. He doesn’t move much, just keeps closely curled, taking in as much warmth as he can. It gives Clark a great deal of joy knowing Tim feels safe enough here with him that he can simply fall asleep, stay asleep beside him. Clark smiles down at the sleeping form, watching him, mesmerized. His hands roam down the boy’s back, along his sides to count out every rib. His hands move to his hips and squeeze gently, not enough to irritate the bruises forming there, but enough to remember exactly where he held Tim only a few hours before.

How Tim laid on his back and took it. How he opened up so nicely for Clark; how he begged so pretty and screamed out when Clark thrust into him, jerking his body with every motion. Tim looked so beautiful with his head thrown back, neck exposed, sweat on his brow…. how he panted and drooled and asked for more even when he’d already come twice.

Clark’s hands land at Tim’s ass and squeeze. Tim’s just so damned pretty and soft. He can’t help himself.

He pulls down the band of Tim’s underwear, just enough that it’s over the swell of his ass so Clark and slide his hands around, pulling and squeezing at his own digression. Tim mutters softly into his neck, but doesn’t wake up.

It’s hard to resist going further when Tim’s so pliant. Clark’s hands part Tim’s cheeks and delve in, running along his crack before getting to his hole. It’s still soft and slightly slick; Tim having been in a hurry to get out of the shower for bed. He normally cleans up so much better, but tonight Clark is sort of glad he didn’t.

It’s easy to slide a finger inside if the teen, he’s so loose from Clark’s cock one finger is nothing. He feels around at Tim’s walls, presses in and hums happily to himself at the mess he left inside of Tim– how he’s properly marked and claimed. It’s an animalistic way of thinking, but sometimes Clark loves it. He loves when Tim can’t hide all the bruises he leaves on his throat or how neighbors complain he moans too loud, or that Bruce knows exactly when his son isn’t spending the night in Gotham.

It’s horrible, but with this Clark doesn’t mind it so much. He loves when Tim gets flustered, loves when he knows the exactly moment he’s aroused, loves that he had to explain things to his friends and family.

Tim stirs a little bit more when another finger is pushed inside of him, spreading to see how well he could stretch. Clark can’t help himself as he collects as much leftover cum and lube still inside of Tim to smear it around, get him as wet as he can before pulling out. His fingers linger at Tim’s rim, as red and puffy as it is from their earlier fuck.

Clark bites at his lip, knows it’s all wrong, but it’s also so easy. He moves Tim’s body down effortlessly, kicks away the blankets and sheets from around them both. He’s hard again. His refractory period nearly nothing at all, so it’s not surprising. He moves Tim around until he’s positioned enough that he can slide his cock between his cheeks. It feels good, leaves Clark pressing his head back into the pillows as he grinds up against Tim, slicks his skin with precum, dirtying up his little shorts, and his thrusts become a little harder and Tim’s body moves above him. He curses softly and moves the underwear aside, stretches them enough that he doesn’t have to remove them when he thrusts again.

The head of his cock catches at Tim’s rim, pressing just a bit inside, and Clark really can’t help himself. Tim’s limp, warm, and open. He slides inside with no resistance at all and it feels like heaven. The bliss only lasts for a moment as he feels more than sees Tim wake up.

A moan escapes Clark’s lips as Tim’s body tenses up around him, the pliant softness it once was becoming a vice grip of heat as Tim wakes up, jerking upright when he realizes what’s happening only to cause Clark’s cock to slide deeper inside of him. They both moan in unison. Clark’s gaze never once leaves the parted gasp on Tim’s pretty red lips.

“C-Clark, what—“

The sentences doesn’t fully leave his mouth as Clark thrusts upwards harder now, his hands at Tim’s hips to keep him steady. Tim arches back, moans again, and essentially gets his answer regardless if the question was truly asked. 

He woke up with Clark’s dick up his ass. The slide isn’t perfect, the lube’s tacky, but his insides are already so prepped, loose, and familiar with the size of Clark’s cock it opened easily for him. Tim’s also still wearing what he went to bed in—he can feel the way his underwear still clings to him, how the cotton catches at Clark’s cock, rubbing against Tim’s hole every time hips jerk upwards. It’s right on the edge of uncomfortable burn and pleasurable strange. The shirt he’s wearing is also still on, though most of it hangs off his shoulder, the erratic movements of Clark not helping and getting it straightened out.

Tim can’t think for a moment, just mewls as he finds perches against Clark’s chest, digs his blunt nails in for support knowing full well they won’t hurt the kryptonian in the slightest. He’s not even moving, just letting Clark lift him up, slam him down, move him and fill him as he wishes. Clark’s huge and powerful and Tim can do little else but take it at points. This was one of those points.

“I—I was sleeping!” He manages to gasp out, trying to not let the feeling of how good Clark feels inside of him take over.

“You’re wearing my colors.” Clark responds, his voice far too calm for this situation that Tim simply doesn’t think it’s fair when he’s trying his hardest to keep his breath. “My symbol.”

The next thrust hits hard, stabs at Tim’s prostate instead of just the constant press that Clark’s massive girth usually supplies. The feeling makes Tim shout, throw his head back and hold on for dear life.

“So soft…you were beautiful. Open. I couldn’t help it.”

Tim’s still far too sensitive from the previous session, remembers too well how it felt for Clark to hold his hips last time, how his dick pressed up inside of him and got him wet with precum.

“Besides…don’t see you complaining.” Clark grins, slides one hand up from Tim’s hip to lift the hem of the t-shirt that covers most of his body, drawing it up to reveal just how hard Tim is, standing stiff and straight, slapping against his belly as Clark forces him to bounce up and down, ride his cock. “You love it.”

“I-I love it,” Tim repeats as if in a trace. His head falls and he looks down at Clark with wet eyes, lips bitten pink-red. He looks about ready to cry, the way his blue eyes shimmer, and Clark takes pity on him.

Tim wails when a hand lands on his cock, his own hips now thrusting up on reflex alone, fucking into the tight fist Clark gives him, sinking back down to meet his cock. It’s so much sensation at once that it’s only a few strokes in that Tim comes—back arching as his own cock jerks, spilling out onto Clark’s abdomen, down his hand.

Clark strokes him through it until Tim’s boneless in his grip, just a doll for Clark to move and fuck. It doesn’t last long before Clark comes again, filling Tim up until every thrust makes a squelch sound.

Tim paws at his chest, pressing back with feeble movements in an attempt to get Clark out of him, move off so he can roll over onto the bed and hopefully sleep once more, but that’s not the case. Clark’s not done with him yet.

He uses some super speed to move Tim so quickly, pulling him off his cock to drag him up, get Tim straddling his face so he can stick his tongue inside. Tim’s hands instantly hit the headboard, gripping hard as he squirms and screams with the feeling of Clark’s tongue thrusting up inside of him, fucking him.

“Clark, Clark, Claaarrrrk!” Tim whines, his entire body too sensitive, too tingling with post-orgasm still, wanting to crawl away and press back all at once.

He can’t get hard this fast, he can’t come, but Clark’s determined and when his movements slow down some, Tim only wriggles a little bit, tries to be still as he finished. It’s not until Clark starts sucking that Tim’s entire body tenses again.

He gasps hard, eyes rolling into the back of his head as Clark sucks his own cum from Tim’s body, tongue flicking up to collect what it can and swallow it down. Tim sobs with the feeling, his hands shaking with their grip on the headboard now.

It seems to take forever for Clark to finish; for his tongue to catch all it can, so he pulls away far enough that he’s just licking, lapping up Tim’s hole, cleaning him of any leftovers before lifting Tim up again to place him back down gently on his chest in nearly the same position he was before, pulling his shorts back into position as well.

Tim says nothing. All he can do is pant against his lover’s chest, staring blankly into the darkness of the bedroom around them. Clark pets his hair; calms him down. And this time, when Tim’s eyes droop closed and Clark hears his breathing even out, Clark lets him be, gives him sleep, whispering ‘I love you’s into the night and lets the thought of waking Tim up again when the taste of him leaves his tongue mull over in his mind.


End file.
